


Is That Blood Mine or Yours?

by marsakat



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I was inspired by another fic that ended on a cliffhanger I wrote my own ending, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsakat/pseuds/marsakat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a clatter on the other end when Josh dropped the phone and Tyler was screaming again, unaware of what he was saying besides a mix of prayers to a cruel God, and Josh’s name.</p><p>(I was inspired by Drag Me Underneath by Minecraftwarcat and decided to write what happened next)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can I Drown You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [troubledsouls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledsouls/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Drag Me Underneath.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220579) by [troubledsouls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledsouls/pseuds/troubledsouls). 



> We fantasize about dying for those we love  
> But what about fantasizing about saving them?  
> \------  
> Life is full of enough heartbreak, so I'm writing my own happy(?) ending

Sometimes when Tyler blinks for too long, lights fly beneath his eyelids like headlights on the highway, the thumping of noise and static echoing in his ears.  Sensory overload; too many people, sounds, hands, and being rushed from place to place.  When the tour has been going on for too long, Tyler is a sponge that has every last molecule wrung out.  A weekend off here and there, flying off to another country for a quick one-two-three festival spree, then back home, into a studio, everything is happening too fast. 

 

Ninety-eight percent of the time, he loves it all, but anyone would need a stretch of time of silence.  Tyler just needs to sit and do nothing so his bones can stop vibrating with the echoes of screams and resounding bass drums.

 

But even going home isn’t quiet. It’s a rush of activity; visiting family and friends, running errands, doctors’ appointments—trying to get everything done before he’s called back away to bleed his soul in front of cheering crowds.  For the past three, maybe even four days (Tyler wasn’t sure), Jenna had been dragging him by the wrist, a balloon that only had a little air left, barely enough to stay afloat. 

 

His phone was dead, and Tyler couldn’t find the stamina to just plug it in.  He wasn’t home for long enough to find his charger, and somehow reaching to the car charger was outside the energy left in his fingertips.  Besides, what is the point? There are too many people on the other end, and the beeps of notifications from the apps that tether him to humanity would be too much for right now.  The simple act of not communicating with anyone outside his line of vision was cleansing; he was able to control these specific noises.

 

But enough days passed and he missed his friends.  Tyler missed Josh most of all.  Your soulmates—platonic, familial, romantic, or otherwise—are the ones that you can spend nearly every waking moment with, but when you’re apart, it feels like you’ve missed them for centuries.  Plugging into the wall, Tyler sat on the ground just because he was too tired to drag a chair closer to the outlet.  Gentle beeps continued for minutes and minutes.  Tyler’s eyes blurred over and fell out of focus.  Names and tweets flashed past—invitations for lunch, coffee, dinner, business meetings.  Tyler debated taking a long nap that may just turn into eighteen hours of nonstop sleep.  But first, he would check in with Josh. 

 

2pm—so that means it’s 11am for Josh.  Tyler guess he’d be awake, but it’s not certain as one recovers from the tour.  He opened up their last messages, and was shocked to find that in over a day (or was it two?) that Josh hadn’t responded to his last text question.  Josh always responded, no matter how stupid or inane.   Josh was ever the encourager, wide smiles and eyes squinted through laughter.  But Tyler saw the other side too—skittering eyes, chewed-up lips and knuckles, and scratches upon the forearm that were explained away, but not when one noticed patterns.  Only one arm in particular, and the cuts never stopped appearing.

 

The crowd’s echoes faded away, and it was only a bass drum matching the beat of his hammering heart, as Tyler checked all of Josh’s accounts—Twitter, Instagram, etc to find there was no trace of Josh online in a week.  “ _This is nothing,”_ he thought, “ _how many times have you jumped to conclusions before?_ ”

 

At least three times Tyler was so anxious about his best friend that he was driven to desperate actions to make sure that what he always feared was not actually happening—once he broke into Josh’s apartment (back when he was still in Columbus, and not all the way across the country) at 3am to find Josh safe and asleep.  Instead of freaking out to finding a half-sobbing Tyler crouched at the side of the bed, no explanation, Josh just opened his arms and rocked Tyler to sleep whispering that they were okay, and Tyler doesn’t have to worry about him.  After that, Tyler got a key to every one of Josh’s apartments, but that didn’t make him trust his friend with those promises about Josh’s own life.  Not when Tyler could see into empty eyes and torn up skin.

 

Just to ease the pounding rhythm of his heart, he let the phone ring.  His hands shook a little, and sweat broke out as it rang one—two—three—four—fi—then stopped.  Tyler could hear an intake of breath on the other side.  Josh was still breathing and that’s enough to help the drum in his chest to subside.

“Josh?” Tyler said, and not stopping for an answer, he let the words tumble out of his mouth. “You didn't respond to my text. I'm so sorry, my phones been dead and I've had no time to charge it, Jenna's been dragging me everywhere.”

 

All Tyler could hear was ragged breathing, and the echo of his heart in his eardrums returned stronger than ever.

 

“Josh, are you okay?”

 

Josh’s voice was barely stronger than a whisper and cut off “Tyler, I…”

 

“Josh?” Tyler felt the words filling up his throat, strangling him.

 

“I did something stupid.”

 

The bottom fell out of Tyler’s heart and for a moment he was nothing. “Josh…”

 

“And I didn't even think to write anything, I just… You hate me. All I do is hurt you.”

 

Tyler’s body was on fire, and he was drowning at the same time.  It was happening. This was it. “Josh! Josh is Dustin there? You have to go to the hospital right now.”

 

He could hear Josh begin to sob on the other line, breaths causing crackling in the connection. “I can't.”  Tyler stopped drowning and it was time for him to act.  We fantasize about dying for our loved ones, and Tyler spoke a lot lately about living for them.  But what about when we have to save them?

 

“Josh, I'm going to give the phone to Jenna and I'm going to call 911 and tell them where you are.”  Jenna’s footsteps pounded as Tyler screamed for her. _Screamed_ because his best friend was dying on the other line, ragged breaths counting down mere moments before he didn’t exist.

 

“Josh—he’s—he’s.  Jenna help me—him—” Tyler babbled, handing the phone to her.  He could hear Jenna talking to Josh, softly, visibly shaken but calm nonetheless.  Tyler was _moving_ and he was acting the steps he had fantasized when the fear overtook him before.  When Tyler was feeling low he’d often sit and imagine what he’d do in exactly this situation.  His sick mind prepared when Josh and his scratched arm and bottled emotions moved thousands of miles away from Tyler. 

 

Tyler recorded the phone numbers for the closest police department to Josh’s apartment.  The numbers were saved on his phone (which was in Jenna’s hands now), but also on the side of the refrigerator.  He grabbed Jenna’s phone to call the police, giving an address, begging them to hurry because Josh sounded _bad_.

 

While he talking to the police, he was vaguely aware of Jenna talking to Josh. Soothing him, “You're going to be alright, Josh.”

 

Tyler broke in, “Jenna, they want to know if the door is locked? Where is he?”

 

She shook her head as Josh responded, and added “He’s in the bathroom.”  

 

The 911 operator was calm, telling him that they were mere minutes away, and Tyler only prayed that Josh had enough time left.  Without a word, Jenna and Tyler exchanged phones and Tyler could hear the breaths, even more labored than before.

 

“Josh? Josh, are you still with me?”  There was no sound, only rustling.  If this was it— _no don’t think like that_ —Tyler wanted to know that Josh was loved even as consciousness faded.  “You'll be okay, Josh.”

  
There was a clatter on the other end when Josh dropped the phone and Tyler was screaming again, unaware of what he was saying besides a mix of prayers to a cruel God, and Josh’s name.

 

“Sir—sir,” a new voice was saying on Josh’s phone, “I am Anna, one of the paramedics taking care of your friend.  Does he have any allergies? Medical conditions?”

  
“No…not that I know of…Please help him,” Tyler gasped.

 

“We’re trying our best, sir.  We’re going to bring him to the hospital now.  Does he have any family you can notify? Roommates?”

 

“Yes—yes okay thanks. Please tell him I love—” but the line was already dead.  Ignoring the tidal waves in his heart, Tyler turned to Jenna and she grabbed his phone.

  
“We should call Dustin first,” she said.

  
“Why not his family?”

 

“Dustin is closest, he can go to the hospital and let us all know what’s happening.  So we can at least give them more information,” Jenna’s voice cracked and Tyler could see she was holding back tears.  He knew he was a mess right now, but that was not important.

 

Life turned into a strobe effect after that.  In one minute, Tyler found himself yelling at Dustin to get back to the apartment, or no, to the hospital. Where was he even? Why wasn’t he there to stop Josh?

 

But no Dustin had been out at a brunch or something, and Tyler, he’s already on his way to the hospital, having just gotten a call since he was the emergency contact.

 

Jenna was the one to call the Dun’s house, and it was Josh’s dad that picked up the landline.  Tyler could hear her hushed conversation ( _Tyler hadn’t heard from Josh in a couple days.  He called him and Josh is hurt pretty bad.  He’s at the hospital now, Dustin is on his way.  We’ll come to your house_ ) as he searched for a flight on his phone to take him to Los Angeles as soon as possible. 

 

Tyler was only vaguely aware of being hustled into the car.  He lifted his hood and leaned against the cold glass of the passenger seat window.  Tyler tried to breathe, but each time he closed his eyes, he could see Josh covered in blood.  Josh in a hospital, surrounded by strangers who poked and prodded.  Breaths leaving his body, and finality, death.  Jenna placed a hand on his shoulder, but neither could say anything.  Tyler’s throat was raw, rawer than after any show.

 

Then they were in the driveway of Josh’s childhood home—the one from the video—and Jenna whispered “Tyler, babe I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to hold it together for his family.”

 

“Why are we here?” Tyler took a shaky breath and wiped his eyes.  A quick glance in the mirror showed they were reddened, his cheeks tearstained.

 

“Dustin texted saying he’ll call as soon as he gets any more information.  We’ll wait here to see what to do.”

 

“No. Jenna, we need to go to the airport.”

 

“But—”

 

“Please”

 

“Later.  We’ll go to the airport later.  First they said they wanted to see us.”

 

Flash of lights and time again and Tyler found himself wrapped in Josh’s mother’s arms.  Barely aware of the words she was saying, his whole body was numb.  This was surreal.  Josh couldn’t be dying right now, so far away from all the people that loved and lived for him.  Tyler sat on the couch, saying nothing, staring at his hands twisting in his lap.

 

Josh’s father answered the call from Dustin when it came.  “He’s okay for now.  Critical condition, but stable” was the pronouncement and everyone sighed in slight relief.  “Tyler, Dustin wants to talk to you.”  The phone was shoved in his hands, and Tyler walked out of the room.

 

“Yeah?” he said in a ragged voice.

 

“Tyler, he’s—he’s really sick,” said Dustin, and Tyler could hear him lose control on the other end.  He too knew the feeling of having to keep it together to answer questions, to even talk to Josh’s parents, and Dustin gasped, “Tyler, he cut his arm up really bad.  He lost so much blood.  I didn’t know he would do this—he’s just been in his room and I thought he was tired.  Every time I asked him to hang out, he would just say he wasn’t feeling so well.  I should’ve—”

 

“It’s okay Dustin,” Tyler didn’t really think it was okay, but he too was culpable.  How could Tyler spend days without talking to his drummer?

 

“Are you coming?”

 

“Yeah,” Tyler glanced at the time on his phone, “I’ll come now.”  He hung up.  How can it only be 5pm? It feels like days have spent waiting.

 

It felt like another person that told the assembled Duns and Jenna that he couldn’t wait here anymore.  He was going immediately to the airport.  They can all come or go later.  Everyone else made plans, and Tyler grabbed the keys, Jenna rushing after him because Tyler was not waiting for anyone else.  He was steady now, and Jenna was pleading with him to stop a moment and _think_.

 

“I’m not thinking anymore.  I’m doing.  I’m going to the airport now, you can come with me or not.”

 

“Drop me off at home,” she said finally, “I’ll pack.  You just go.”

 

Not too long later, he was at the airport, begging the first airline scheduled on the board to have a nonstop flight to LAX to _please let me on that flight, it’s an emergency_.  Tyler knew he paid a lot of money—first class ticket was the only one left—and he was through security, and onto the plane in a few short breaths.  The banging in his head was back, but _hold on Josh, I’m coming_.


	2. You're My Pride and Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Jishwa. It’s me.”  
> \----  
> This feels like the longest day of Tyler's life, but he refuses to sleep until Josh wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got some hurt...now time for the comfort

_28 year old male, probable suicide attempt, requesting ACLS for self-inflicted wounds to the forearm with major hemorrhage and hypovolemic shock. Patient lost consciousness as we arrived…_

_Ambulance 4 to Hospital, we have a 28 year old male with self-inflicted wounds to the right forearm. Found in bathroom, possible downtime 10 minutes.  Patient has been unresponsive since we’ve been on the scene about…20 minutes ago. No allergies, no prior medical history. Showing signs of shock; BP 88/49, Heart Rate 127, Respirations 32 and labored, Sat 91% on nonrebreather, afebrile, We’ve got fluids running. ETA 3 to 5 minutes…_

The five hour flight passed quickly and slowly.  Tyler sat staring straight ahead, drinking and eating whatever coffee or water or food the flight attendants put in front of him.  The people around him chanced nervous glances to the silent figure in a black hoodie and no carry on. It must be late, but Tyler had turned off his phone to conserve battery.  He forgot his charger again.  Realizing he somehow had an iPod and headphones—did Jenna slip it into his pocket before he left?—he turned on music.  Jumping from song to song, even listening to his own creations (too painful to hear Josh’s drumming right now), he couldn’t settle on anything but soothing classical music he felt obliged to save.

 

He turned on his phone once in a taxi to let Jenna and Dustin know he had landed—she texted back to say the Duns and she were leaving tomorrow morning, early.  Dustin said he was still at the hospital.  Mark and everyone else close to them now appeared to be in the know and he had messages he could barely bother responding to.  Tyler knew the cab driver was asking questions too— _Where are you coming from? Is this your first time in LA? How long are you going to stay?_ —he probably noticed that Tyler had no luggage.  Shockingly Tyler found the conversation soothing, and the soft R&B from the stereo was a break from the ache deep within him.  Tyler answered as blandly as he could, keeping up a conversation about the blessed rain that they were getting.

 

Dustin met him in the lobby.  Dustin’s eyes were red too, and he spoke in a broken whisper.  “He’s up in the intensive care unit. They said he was going into shock and if you hadn’t called—Josh hasn’t really woken up yet.  They said something about sedating him because he kept fighting.  I—I just want you to be ready when you see him.”

 

“I’m ready” Tyler strode to the elevators, Dustin trailing behind him.

 

“Visiting hours are over, and they’re strict upstairs, but I explained to the nurses about who you are and the whole situation, and they said they’d make an exception for just a little bit.”

 

Tyler nodded as the elevator doors opened onto a gleaming hallway with arrows pointing in many different directions.  Dustin pressed a button by a door labelled “Medical Intensive Care Unit” and a buzzing alerted that the door was unlocked.  Walking onto the unit, it was in a semicircular shape, with glass plated walls between the individual rooms and the nurses’ station.  The lights were dimmed for the evening time, and curtains were partially drawn at each room, but Tyler could see beds with patients not moving.  Tubes and ventilators drew breaths for the silent bodies.  It was hushed, and also noisy with various beeps and clicks and alarms.  Tyler fought the sensory overload again as Dustin beckoned him towards a nurse sitting at a computer with wheels outside a room.

  
“This is the friend you were talking about before?” the nurse asked, her badge reading the name ‘Shayla, RN.’

 

Dustin nodded, “He just flew in from Ohio. Is it okay if he goes in for a little bit?”

 

Her eyes met Tyler’s; they were warm and he felt like sobbing again.  Tyler bit his lip as the nurse reached to pat him on the shoulder. “Of course.  I can only give you until 11, but there’s a family waiting room if you want to spend the night.  Just before you came in, he opened his eyes for a little bit. Talk to him, he probably will be able to hear you.” She pointed to the room behind her, giving a gentle smile.

 

Tyler nodded, not trusting his own voice quite yet. He was scared to go into the room, and he looked at Dustin, who grabbed him by the arm and guided Tyler to the bedside. 

 ...

_Med rooms are where are the gossip happens.  While this is technically breaking the law, venting and commiserating are important when you have one of the most emotionally and physically taxing jobs in the planet._

_“I just don’t know…my patient and his visitor look so familiar to me. And his name is protected in the system, so he’s someone somewhat famous I guess.  I just can’t place it,” said Shayla as she was grabbing medications from the Pyxis machine._

_Her coworker/friend Julie was sitting on the counter, drinking from her water bottle and texting, “Did you Google the name yet? Let me look.” Being nurses at a hospital in Los Angeles meant that the occasional celebrity minor or otherwise connected were visitors or patients from time to time._

_“The name is D-U-N…Joshua Dun. But I’m serious, look at it incognito—I don’t want us to get in trouble for breaking HIPAA.”_

_“Says here there’s a Joshua Dun in the band Twenty One Pilots…” Julie read off Wikipedia as another young nurse, Sara walked into the room._

_“Were you just talking about Twenty—” Sara asked, and Shayla cut her off._

_“Yes, Sara. We know they’re your favorite band.”_

_“And Shayla’s new admission is the drummer,” smirked Julie as she grabbed some supplies._

_“Are you serious? The attempted suicide in bed 5?” Sara looked dumbfounded as she grabbed some IV bags from the fridge._

_“If you want to confirm it, I’m giving him a unit of blood soon if you want to witness with me?”_

_“You’re going to have to pinch me.”_

_..._

Josh looked so small surrounded by machines and monitors. He had a venous line directly into his neck, pumping new blood, fluid, and medications directly into his depleted bloodstream.  His left arm had multiple lines and pads, a blood pressure cuff was inflating for a new reading.  Occasionally his hand twitched against the white sheets.  There were even more scratches than Tyler remembers seeing before.  His right forearm was still, wrapped in fluffy white bandages from palm to elbow.  Tyler could see traces of dried blood that had not been washed off his fingers.

 

Josh’s hair was matted and in disarray. The salmon pink was faded and roots were growing in.  Had it only been five—six—seven(?) days since Tyler last saw Josh awake and smiling?  Tyler pushed hair off his cool and pale forehead. Sitting in a chair on Josh’s left side—always his left side, he leaned down to whisper “Hey Jishwa. It’s me.”

 

Maybe it was a coincidence, or Tyler’s overactive imagination, but Josh let out a little sigh and his head rolled slightly toward Tyler.  Tyler reached for Josh’s good hand, grasping with his left and laying his forehead upon the bed, close to Josh’s ear. 

 

“Dustin, we’ll be fine. You can go home and sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”  Tyler said, and for a brief moment there was a pressure on his shoulder and then Dustin was gone.  Tyler and Josh existed in silence, the former matching his breaths to the no longer ragged ones of the latter.

 

“I’m sorry for this,” Tyler said, awakening from his trance state brought on by the gentle beep of the heart monitor.  “I’m sorry you felt alone.  Josh you’re my best friend and I can’t hate you.  You only hurt me when you hurt yourself.  I need you to wake up.  You see, I’ve come all this way and it’d be rude to keep sleeping.  Though you know I love to watch you nap.” Tyler smiled in spite of the situation.  Josh didn’t stir.

 ...

_Administration of blood products requires two registered nurses to verify right patient and donor identification. One nurse has to stay in the room with the patient for the first 15 minutes of administration, monitoring for possible adverse reactions._

_Shayla and Sara knocked on the door to find the patient’s visitor in the black hoodie with his head down on the bed, clutching the hand of the patient.  He sat up quickly and rubbed his bleary eyes.  It was almost 11pm—time for them to kick him out of the room, but Shayla couldn’t find it in her heart quite yet._

_“Hi, I’m Sara, one of the other nurses. I’m just here to help Shayla with checking the blood.”  Her own heart was beating fast because she knew exactly who he was._

_“I’m Tyler,” he replied, “Am I in your way?”_

_“Oh no, you just stay where you are, okay?” Sara said.  Tyler watched them fuss around with the paper for a minute, reading off numbers, before he turned back to stare at his friend.  When he wasn’t looking, Sara gave a nod to Shayla, confirming their suspicions._

_A few minutes passed and Sara left the room, but since Shayla had to stay in the room, she worked around the silent two._

_“What’s going to happen next?” Tyler’s voice surprised Shayla and she jumped after ten minutes of silence.  She had started charting on her computer and thought he had fallen asleep._

_“How do you mean?”  Shayla was used to having the families of the very sick ask her questions—it was best to figure out what they were really asking._

_“When is he going to wake up?  Is he going to…get worse?”_

_“Well…you can’t ever predict what’s going to happen next.  But I’d say he’s through the worst of it.  He’s gotten a lot of blood, and his vital signs are improving.  He’s able to breathe on his own, without a ventilator.  Those are all good signs.  See—” she indicated the patient, who was moving in the bed, “He’s even moving all his limbs.”_

_“Not his right arm,” Tyler’s voice was choked, “Will he ever be able to move it again? He needs to be able to—Josh is a drummer, he needs to be able to…” his voice trailed off._

_Shayla bit her lip, unsure of how to answer._

_“The doctors come around to do rounds in the morning, and they’d be able to talk about prognosis then.  I’m sorry, I just don’t know right now,” looking for something to cover the awkward moments, she began to recheck the patient’s vital signs._

_“I’ll just come back then,” he said, “I guess I have to leave now? It’s just that I wanted to see him open his eyes before I left.  Just to let his family know that he’s alright.”_

_“Say his name, he may respond to that. Lots of patients won’t respond until someone they know starts talking to him,” Shayla suggested._

_“I tried that.”_

_“Give it one last shot,” she patted Tyler on the shoulder and went to leave the room. “This is only night one,” Shayla said, pausing in the door, “He needs some time to heal.  It will all work out.  You go get some rest, I’ll be here all night.”_

_..._

Tyler stood up not long after, and placed an awkward hand on Josh’s head.  “Josh. I’m going to go sleep now, I’ll be back later but I’m not going away, okay?  You better wake up, because your mom is coming and she’ll be mad if you ignore her.”  Josh’s eyelids flickered, and Tyler was overcome by a silly idea, “Come on, _get up Joshie boy_ ,” he said in a sing-song voice and Josh cracked a single eyelid at him.

  
“Hey—hey man,” Tyler said, and Josh’s eyebrows raised, but his eye fell shut, “Don’t make me keep singing, Josh. _But do I want to say goodbye to all the glowing eyes?_ ”

 

Josh actually groaned, but he finally opened both eyes slowly.  Tyler’s breath caught in his throat.  Josh was okay. It was all going to be okay.  Though they were unfocused and groggy, Josh blinked twice at Tyler, who was at a loss for words.  The beat in Tyler’s ears was jubilant, racing in excitement, not in the fear that had weighed down his heart for all these hours.

 

Even as Josh’s eyes fell shut again, Tyler counted a small victory, and knew he could finally sleep tonight.  Exiting the room, Tyler texted everyone the good news with the last few minutes before his cell phone died.  Later, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone how he made it from the ICU to the family waiting room and to sleep.  He thought his dreams would be haunted by blood and fear, but tonight Tyler dreamt of blackness—warm and silent—and thought of nothing until the housekeeper’s cleaning woke him up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably only a few chapters left of this story, but I've still got to plot it out. 
> 
> I've said it in other stories--I am a nurse, and that's probably why I write so much medical stuff. Yes we do talk about patients, but that's how we vent and survive.


	3. Ceiling Fans and Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh made a deal with himself then that if he was no longer able to drum, he was just going to get a gun and do it the permanent way.  
> \---  
> Being awake doesn't mean that everything is better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got some comfort before...now back to the angst. (Serious trigger warning for suicidal thoughts. Protect yourselves, okay frens?)

There’s that point between sleeping and being awake where you’re a prisoner in your own head, and the world is existing around you.  Things are happening, and you have no control or response to these actions. 

 

Everything was fuzzy, and the static in Josh’s ears would racket up and down as he drifted in and out of wakefulness.  Just to escape the white noise that was reverberating in his head the more aware he became, Josh would try to fall back into the blackness.  _Let me sleep_  . _Let me die._ he wanted to scream to the people that were lifting and moving him.  There were so many voices around and his name was being shouted by strangers. 

 

“Joshua! Joshua, can you open your eyes for me?” some man was yelling in his ear, (and that’s rude, okay?), “You are in the emergency room.  We are going to place an intravenous line in your neck to give you blood and monitor your pressure.  We are going to give you a local anesthetic, but you will need to stay very still for us.”

 

Josh ignored the voice, deciding to focus his efforts on wondering how he got from his apartment to here.  He was vaguely aware of poking and prodding as he was moved around like a ragdoll.  One of his arms hurt—or was it both?—it really felt like it belonged to someone else, but now the pain was becoming his.  Josh did not really want any part of this—he’d much rather go back to the blackness.

 

So when hands push his head to the side, and more grabbed his shoulders, Josh decided to fight back.  Who gave these people the right?  Eyes flying open, he could see blurry figures crowded around him, and Josh used all the strength he had to buck them off.  More voices and yelling of “Joshua! Calm down!”

 

Josh’s head ached, and he wondered where his friends were—trying to roll to the side and found the way off the stretcher to be blocked by bodies.

 

“Joshua, you’re going to have to be still or we will have to sedate you.”

 

Sedated?  That means he goes back to the blackness.  The only part that didn’t hurt at the moment was his legs, though Josh wasn’t too sure they would respond to him.  He felt so weak.  But he kicked upwards and a clatter of supplies fell to the ground.  The static was back—he’d done too much, but Josh fought against the tunnel vision and the many hands that pressed him downwards.

 

There was a sharp pain in his upper arm and warmth spreading from where some medication was being injected.  Exhaustion overtook him, and a few minutes later the sedative took him down completely.

……

Dustin arrived not too long after to find his roommate still covered in blood (cleaning a patient has to wait until they are stable, explained a nurse as Dustin nearly passed out from the sheer quantity of it), his right arm being washed off with betadine before the doctors prepared to suture the laceration closed.  They were explaining to Dustin that they had to put Josh to sleep since it took seven people hold him down to even get started on saving his life.

 

“You’ve gotta save his arm,” Dustin told the doctor, “He’s an awesome drummer.”

 

“We’ll do our best, son.”

……

Josh wasn’t sure how much time passed since the last time he remembered…though he couldn’t even remember what he was last doing.  Had he been at his apartment?  Or was he on tour?  He was pretty sure he could hear Tyler.  Or was that Dustin?  There was a beeping noise, and he remembered an emergency room scene, but he could have been watching a movie.

 

His right arm hurt, and images of blood welling up beneath a shining silver razor burst underneath his eyelids.  _Oh._

 

The emptiness in his heart.  Tyler’s panicked voice.  A bathtub.

 

Josh wanted to hide as he remembered.  Here he is, fucking everything up and making it worse.  Couldn’t even kill himself properly and now everything will be even more complicated.  Tyler was probably so mad at him.  Josh was a goddamn hypocrite as he stood next to Tyler—who was really too good for him—preaching to broken masses to stay alive for them.  And Josh couldn’t even stay alive for Tyler, let alone everyone else that counted on him.  Thanked him for helping them to live.

 

He was disgusting and he was glad he was alone.  Josh hoped no one came to see him like this, because who could love a pitiful, awful creature like himself?

 

Stewing in self-loathing, Josh felt a wave of nausea and dizziness overtake him and he prayed to fall back asleep. It almost worked, but a soft breath tickled his ear, whispering, “Hey Jishwa. It’s me.”

 

In spite of his furious emotions, Josh instantly relaxed as a warm hand slipped into his.  He heard what Tyler was saying next, and, embarrassed, he pretended to be deeply asleep.  Josh did not want to face an awkward conversation, and maybe if he just never opens his eyes, they’ll keep him here, safe from responsibility.  Another wave swept over him as silence fell, and Josh felt himself falling back down the black tunnel of fatigue

 

An undetermined time later, Josh heard singing.  Wondering what the hell was going on, and forgetting the plan to never open his eyes again, he could see Tyler next to him.  _Oops._

 

Tyler definitely noticed, and just to stop the singer from embarrassing him further with their own music, Josh opened both eyes and looked up at his best friend.  Tyler looked like utter shit.  Josh had never seen him with such bags under his eyes, and his lips were cracked—looked like they even had been bleeding from being chewed so hard.  But Tyler was smiling at him, as if Josh hadn’t just broken his heart completely and burnt anything good between them. 

 

Josh’s head spun from the lights and the rush of thoughts; _why is he smiling he should be cursing me throwing things at me I’m the worst I’m the worst I’m the worst friend I screw everything up and why is he here when all I do is cause him pain he should be with his wife and those who don’t seek to destroy him he’s been through so much already and here I am, this asshole, ruining everything he’s ever worked for and I should have—died. I wish I was dead someone rip open these stitches and let me bleed_

 

His eyes felt heavy, his limbs didn’t respond as Josh debated lashing out and reopening the wound on his arm.  He was still so weak, and he didn’t want to scare Tyler again.  Better to drive him away first so when it’s time for Josh to die, Tyler won’t miss him at all.

…

New nurses were working when Tyler returned to the unit in the morning.  This nurse gave a quick update—slept for a while after you left, but woke up around 3 am and tried crawling out of bed and ripping out his central line.  We had to medicate him to calm him, but he’s been awake for about two hours without trying to harm himself.  There’s a one-to-one watcher with him at all times now, which is standard procedure.

 

“Good morning,” Tyler said awkwardly, standing in the doorway.  The assistant nodded, looking up from her book, and Josh was staring down at his hands, not acknowledging Tyler’s presence.  Tyler could see the drummer’s ears turning red and assumed he was embarrassed.

 

“You want some coffee?” Tyler sat down in the same chair from last night.  He’d bought a second cup in the cafeteria downstairs, but he wasn’t sure if Josh was allowed to have it.  Though if it would make Josh talk to him, that would be worth it.  Josh shrugged and reached with his left hand, Tyler eyeing the still immobile right one.  Josh at least looked better--there was some color back in his face, and his eyes looked fully in focus- though the drummer looked like he was really trying hide with nowhere to go.

 

They sat in silence, Josh began to look out the window, away from Tyler, who was desperately searching for the right words to say.  Giving his bottom lip a break, Tyler chewed his tongue, holding back what he really wanted to say.  At this moment, Tyler just wanted to scream and throw something to break the stillness in Josh’s face, to spark something in those hollow eyes.  He wanted to be mad at Josh for scaring everyone, for hating himself so much that he did his damned best to kill himself—and nearly succeeded.

 

“They’re going to lock me up,” Josh whispered.

 

Tyler didn’t know what to say.

 

“That’s what happens next,” Josh continued, his voice louder, “There was a doctor here this morning that told me.  A psychiatrist is coming by later to evaluate me.”

 

“What else did they say?”

 

“I don’t know…I’m lucky to be alive. I came close to severing an artery.  Probably damaged the tendons in my arm.  They’re going to have some meeting with my family once they arrive,” Josh almost sounded bored, picking at a thread on the blanket.  _Better just kick me out of the band now since all I destroyed all I’m worthwhile for_ , the broken drummer thought.

 

Tyler closed his eyes so he wouldn’t start screaming.  It felt like a small miracle that Josh’s parents showed up at that moment, because he needed an excuse to leave.  Jenna was waiting in the family room for him, they said and Tyler escaped.  It was as if leaving Josh’s icy presence and seeing Jenna’s warm eyes melted the dam that was in his heart.  Tyler fell to his knees and gasped for air, sobbing helplessly. Surviving the night and waking up was not the end of the problems—it felt like it was only going to be harder from now on.

…

Josh was thankful it was only his parents—he couldn’t bear to face his siblings right now.  It was painful enough to deal with their questions and tears.  The psychiatrist arrived just in time before they really made him feel any worse, and the evaluation went as well as could be expected.

 

Yeah, he still wanted to hurt himself.  He wasn't sure now if he did want to die.  His mind kept changing.  No, he didn't want to harm anyone else. No, he didn’t hear any voices.  This had been going on for years and years but on and off.  This was the first time he’d actually attempted to kill himself.  He didn’t know how long he’d been self-harming for.  He couldn’t place exactly when he started getting low again this time—maybe this one show when they played Guns for Hands and Josh forgot how to breathe?  From then on it felt like he was spiraling down and away from everyone he loved.  An alien among humans, unworthy of love (He didn't say that last part, because it felt a little too poetic for a man that expressed himself through thumps and not words.  Tyler was the one with a better grasp of words).  The questions went on and on and Josh wasn’t sure if he was being truthful because he actually wanted help, or because he was too tired to lie.

 

With his family back in the room, and social workers, the psychiatrist and medical doctor at the bedside too, they began to discuss the next steps.  Josh nodded occasionally, numb to the questions his mother—a nurse—and father—a physical therapist—asked.  This was their domain, and when his father asked what to do about his arm, Josh ignored what the doctors said and stared at his fingers, willing them to move.

 

They did…a little.  Josh made a deal with himself then that if he was no longer able to drum, he was just going to get a gun and do it the permanent way.

…

Tyler hadn’t come back yet, and they were going to move Josh to a step down unit before sending him to the psych ward.  Section fifty-one-fifty mean that he would be in involuntary psych hold for 72 hours.  They psychiatrist started him on new medications, and Josh got out of bed for the first time.  His legs were shaky and his blood pressure dipped precariously, sending his head spinning.  Josh was glad it was only his parents to witness this embarrassment.  Tyler would find it hilarious.  Stupid Josh, weak Josh, doing this to himself.  Like an idiot.

 

Josh got some lunch—didn’t taste very good, but if anything he felt a little better.

 

“When’s Tyler coming back?” He asked his mother.  Josh didn’t miss the glance between his parents.  “Can Dustin bring me my phone?”

 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to have it yet,” said his dad.

 

“No, they’ll take it away once I’m on the psych unit.  Can you tell Dustin to bring it…please?”

 

Two hours later, Josh was in a new room, no IV in his neck.  The suicide watch was still sitting nearby, but now Dustin, Tyler, and Jenna were here.  Dustin had thankfully brought him his phone and some real clothing—he was tired of having his ass sticking out of the back of the gown.  Josh’s parents had left to get something to eat and take a break.

 

Josh was feeling a new emotion that he assessed detachedly.  Shame.  It was definite shame at acting so selfish and cold.  He did not like seeing the lines of worry crease the foreheads of his friends, aging them years since the last time he saw them.  Josh had no idea what to say to make them feel any better.

 

Josh glanced down at the phone in his lap.  There was a new crack from where he dropped it, and definitely dried blood in the gaps and edges.  _Gross_.  At least Dustin had charged it for him.

 

He opened up twitter and scroll through the feed.  The usual posts, and he snickered at a funny tweet or two.  The other three began to chat, and the tension was loosening.  Josh couldn’t help but notice a lot of the messages to him were asking if he was okay and why he hadn’t said anything in weeks.  He decided to retweet some artwork, and instantly his notifications exploded with various forms of “hello spooky jim!” and “dad is online!”

 

The phone rang, and it was Mark.

  
“I saw you tweeted.  What’s up? How…are you?”

 

“Figured I’d keep up appearances before they take my phone away.  Tyler and Jenna and Dustin are here.  What are you doing?”

 

“The usual,” Mark sighed and the phone line crackled.  “Josh I don’t really know what to say.  But I’m always here for you, man.  Call me whenever.”

 

“Okay…I don’t know what to say either.  So I’ll just…go—wait no! What are we doing about letting the fans know?”  Tyler jumped in his seat a little, fully paying attention to Josh’s conversation now.

 

“It’s up to you two,” said Mark.

 

“Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.  We’ve got to discuss this.”

 

“Hey Mark.”

 

“Hey Tyler.”

 

“So Josh, what do you want to do?” asked Mark.

 

Josh had thought a little about it, staring out the window that morning.  He didn’t want to be the center of attention right now.  He didn’t want to be hounded by reporters or sent thousands of messages from fans and haters alike.  But he’d seen scars on the arms of those that took comfort in their music, and he wondered if sharing his scars would help them?  Even if he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to protect the rest of them.

 

“I think I want to keep it quiet right now.  Let me get my head back on.”

 

“But we’re going to have to address it.  It’s going to be obvious something happened when they see—” Tyler indicated Josh’s arm, and Josh's stomach plummeted. 

 

“He’ll think of what to say then,” cut in Mark, “But right now, Josh just has to get better.”

 

Josh nodded, his heart swelling with emotion, and forgetting Mark couldn’t see him. 

 

“Well it was good to hear your voice, dude.  Call me when you get a chance, okay?” Mark sighed.

 

“Bye,” Josh ended the call.

…

Once the doctors signed off on Josh’s case, saying he was medically fit to start psychiatric treatment, it was time for everyone to go.  There were some tearful goodbyes with his parents, but they were going to be attending counseling sessions over the next three days with him anyway.  Tyler and Josh hugged, and Josh tried to put some unspoken apologies into the gesture. 

 

Frankly, Josh was terrified as they wheeled him down the long hallways to the locked unit.  All his possessions were taken away, and he was completely searched for anything that could cause himself or anyone else harm.    All his piercings had to be removed and replaced with retainers.  Strings were taken out of his hoodies—it was going to suck rethreading them once he got back out.

 

There was more talking on this unit, and people walking around.  Josh could hear a voice shouting about demons and Jesus Christ, and saw zombie-like patients in sweatpants and mismatched shirts walking to a room with a television.  He was lead to a room with low beds and no protruding ledges to hang himself from.  Josh was to have a roommate—in for a manic episode, and he—Tom—paced the hallways and tapped his feet anytime he was forced to sit.  He’d also talk incessantly, which was nice for Josh to hide beneath. 

 

There was to be group therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, art therapy, music therapy (Josh laughed when he heard the plan for today was a drum circle), yoga, aromatherapy, etc.  It was almost like a sick daycare center, but it was only for three days.  Better act right, and he’d be home before he knew it.  There were whispers that they could keep you here another fourteen days if they thought he was still a danger to himself or others.  Josh didn’t feel dangerous anymore.  He just felt sick and tired, and wanted to be told it was all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope Josh Dun is having a good day today. You guys honestly don't know the relief I've felt when writing this when I get a tweet or snapchat notification. This story has blossomed into much more than I imagined and I'm almost sad it's almost done.


	4. You Will Never Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's all just talk about our feelings and hope it goes somewhere good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to write a therapy session and not say "and how does it make you feel?"

The day Josh went into psychiatric treatment, Tyler helped Dustin clean the bathroom.  They mopped up the dried blood, trying to wash away what happened.  He didn't know if it was the sight of it all or the fumes from the bleach, but he spent hours afterward feeling nauseous and weak.

 

Tyler coped with the best coping strategy he knew; he wrote furiously, pouring every sad, sick feeling he had out onto the page. The worthlessness and helplessness, unable to even save his best friend, his platonic soulmate. All inadequacies formed new songs, new rhymes, that would later be called a masterpiece. But for now they were just half-formed ideas and thoughts.

 

Tyler left a keyboard and a ukulele at Josh’s apartment just so he didn’t have to drag his own across country.  Stored under the bed, Tyler slithered underneath and pulled out the keyboard.  Tyler picked out some new melodies and zoned out, ignoring the vibrating of his phone; calls from Jenna, Josh’s parents, and random other people--maybe the story was spreading.  His mind was empty until a hammering on the door brought him back.

 

"Tyler, are you okay in there?"  Dustin shouted through the door, over Tyler banging on the keys.

 

"Oh..oh yeah.  What's up?" he stopped, staring at his hands, feeling bruised and tired.

 

"It's just that you've been singing _Goner_ on repeat for an hour and screaming.  The neighbors just called asking if someone was getting murdered." 

…

After 40 hours of being on the closed unit, Josh’s psychiatrist felt he was making great progress.  He had two sessions with his parents that got very deep, and he even opened up in the group meeting that morning; something Josh was very hesitant about.  It felt very kumbaya to say that other people understood him, but to some extent, the others sitting there were going through a similar battle.  He’d also had several epiphanies about his life and role in the world, and it honestly felt a little ridiculous to admit that things were improving in a short time. 

 

His dad told him everyone was sticking around the area, and his brother was even thinking of flying in for a few days next week.  It felt as if they were treating him with kid gloves, afraid to let him be alone with his thoughts.  As if keeping Josh distracted at all times would keep the bad thoughts away.  And a part of Josh agreed with them.  He was worried about going home, and dealing with his head without supervision.

 

A special physical therapist (Josh was about ninety percent sure that the label or Tyler himself hired them) came to him directly and worked through exercises to strengthen his right arm and keep it from getting stiff.  Thankfully there was no nerve damage, and they tendons just needed time to heal.  Josh had to keep the arm elevated, and bandages on for two weeks until they fully closed.   The therapist taught him the proper gentle stretches and said he should do these five times a day—Josh found it soothing.  Every time he started feeling anxious or upset, Josh would go through the motions.  It was hard to grip anything smaller than a doorknob (which he was not allowed to do anyway—the twisting motions was bad for his sutures), let alone a drumstick, but that would come with time.

 

“How do you feel about going home the day after tomorrow?” The psychiatrist asked at that forty hour meeting.

  
Josh shrugged, “I guess it’d be okay.  I’m don't feel like killing myself anymore.  I think I'm safe now.”

 

“We’ll help set follow up appointments for you.  Remember, it takes the medications about two weeks to start to work, so even though you’re home you’re not fully stable yet,” she said.

 

“I’ve got Dustin—my roommate—at home.  And my brother is coming.  And Tyler’s here.  I don’t know how long he’ll be around for,” Josh started stretching his arm.

 

“You seemed to get a little anxious right now. Can you tell me what you’re thinking about?” Obvious the psychiatrist noticed Josh’s new tic.

 

“Tyler,” Josh said.

 

“What about him?” the doctor asked, “He’s your bandmate, right?”

  
“Mhm…” Josh looked down at his knees, thinking about the tattoo on the other side of the cloth.  He turned over the emotions running through his head for a few moments.  “I think I really scared him, and I’m worried he’s mad at me.  He’d never say it, but Tyler is very…sensitive and I don’t want him to spiral out of control or hurt himself.”

 

“What do you think about inviting him to a one-on-one session tomorrow? So you can both talk about your feelings?”

 

“That’d be a really good idea,” Josh said, feeling some relief.

  
“I’ll give him a call, and we’ll set up a time,” she wrote a note on her pad, and Josh went off to join the drum circle, playing with one hand.  If the guy from Def Leppard could do it, so could he.

…

Tyler managed to get some studio time through calling in a few favors.  It felt great to bang on the piano and scream into a microphone without Dustin getting noise complaints.  His throat felt raw, and he sat in the parking lot drinking a Red Bull and watching traffic pass by when his phone started ringing.  Tyler didn’t recognize the number, but the caller ID said it was from the hospital Josh was at.

 

“Hey, Josh?” Tyler had gotten a call from Josh the first night after he'd gotten freaked out by another patient, but Tyler hadn't heard from him since then.

 

“Hello, is this Tyler Joseph?” said a female voice.

 

“Uh yeah.  Who is this?”  Tyler began to pace, kicking rocks out of his way.

  
“My name is Dr. George.  I am a psychiatrist taking care of Joshua Dun.  He wanted to have a therapy session with you at the hospital tomorrow.  Will you be available around one PM?”

 

“Sure.  Why?”

  
“Since you’re an important part of Josh’s life”—Damn right he is—“We felt that it would be important for the two of you to talk before he got discharged.”

 

“Alright, that sounds good.  I’ll be there.”

  
“Thank you, and we will see you tomorrow. Have a good day.”

 

Later when they were falling asleep that night, Jenna asked Tyler how long he planned to stay in LA.  He shrugged, deciding to decide after the meeting tomorrow. 

…

Tyler dropped off his phone, belt, coat, and other potentially dangerous items into a locker before entering the psych unit at a quarter to one.  The visitor’s pass on his chest marked him apart from the patients walking by, watching him.  He avoided eye contact as an aide walked him down a hallway, and guided him to a locked room marked “Private Therapy Room 3”.  Tyler was let in and told to sit down.  He was sure he heard the lock click as the door was shut, but testing it showed that it was just locked from the inside.  So he wasn’t being imprisoned here…good…

 

A few minutes passed and presumably Dr. George entered.  Tyler stood to shake her hand, and she indicated he take a seat again. 

 

“Is Josh coming?” he asked.

 

“He’ll be on his way shortly.  I just wanted to talk to you a little first.  So he’s been making good progress, and will probably be safe for discharge tomorrow.  We’re just concerned about safety when he goes home.  I know he has a roommate, but it seems like Josh trusts you the most out of anyone.”

 

“I live in Ohio.  We travel together for most of the year, but my home isn’t here,” Tyler was wondering if she wanted him to move in with Josh.

 

“Okay, that’s perfectly fine.  You have your own life and you need to keep that protected.  Sometimes people develop codependencies when there is an event such as this, but it’s important to take care of you,”  Tyler winced at the word ‘codependent’ since people threw that out at them often, and even he wasn’t sure if it was true or not.

 

“If you’re feeling depressed or in any way like harming yourself, I urge you to talk to a mental health counselor either here or back in Ohio.  This is a very traumatic event to happen to you, and it’s okay if you need to talk about it,” she continued, and Tyler avoided her gaze, tears springing to his eyes.

 

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “I mean, I’m okay right now.  I dreamt about it last night, but I don’t feel as much pain when I think about it as I had a few days ago.  He’s better now, right? And that’s what’s important to me.” There was a soft knock on the door, and Dr. George stood to let in Josh.

 

Josh looked okay—he wasn’t deathly pale anymore, and his eyes didn’t look so empty.  If anything, he smiled shyly upon meeting Tyler’s eyes.

 

“Nice beard,” was the first thing Tyler thought to say, and Josh rubbed at his unshaven cheek absently.

  
“It’s good to see you, man,” Josh said, and Tyler reached out to hug him.

 

“How’s it going?”  Tyler asked after pulling away, leaving a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Better.  Honestly, much better.  I’m starting to feel like me again,” Josh bit his lip, “And how about you?”

 

“Okay.  I’ve been writing. Recorded some piano stuff for you to hear tomorrow.”

  
“I’d like that,” and Josh took a seat.

 

“So this session is just for you two to talk about what has been going on.  Josh, if you feel comfortable sharing your thoughts and talking about the incident, please do, but you do not have to if you are not ready yet,” Dr. George encouraged.

 

“I think I’m ready,” Josh replied, turning to Tyler who felt the breath catch in the back of his throat, “You know I don’t really like to talk about my feelings.  But in here I’ve been sharing a lot with strangers, and it’d be better for me if I talk about what happened, to you since you are, like, a really big part of my life.”

 

“You described it once; you know those days that just don’t sit right in your head? You feel so mad and sad and nothing everyone does will get you out of that funk. Everything is going wrong and everyone blames you. But even when people are comforting you, they’re all just liars. It was more than just a day or two though. It felt like my brain was attacking me for weeks and that it was never going to get better–well, I’m pretty sure you understand that” Josh was watching his arm as he curled his wrist and bent his fingers.

 

“I think I’ve written a song or two about that,” Tyler said half-jokingly, and Josh looked grateful for the the pat on the shoulder  that Tyler gave him.

 

“I’ve never been so low in my life. I hated myself so much and was so tired from touring and then I went home and it was quiet and no one was there to get me out of my head.”

 

“I’m sorry” Tyler said quickly

 

“No it’s not your fault!” Josh exclaimed, “besides, I was so low that no one could have fixed me alone.”

 

“Yeah, but I should’ve checked in with you more. Why didn’t I notice that you weren’t yourself when the tour ended? I just thought you were tired–I was tired. I was being selfish and–”

 

“Tyler, you’re blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault,” Josh pointed out.

 

“But I’m your best friend!”

 

“And I’m good at hiding things. Tyler, you can’t know what’s behind my skull at all times–oh crap did I just quote you?”

 

“Sort of. Good try,” Tyler smiled, and then a shadow passed over his face and his voice came out hoarse, “I’d see the cuts on your arms and I never did anything about it. For years.  I’d see them and I would pretend they weren’t there.  I should’ve talked to you about it.”

 

Josh couldn’t make eye contact with Tyler’s voice like that. He began to stretch his arm again, reveling in the burning in his stitches to beat back the burning in his eyes of forming tears.

 

“Josh,” said Dr. George softly, “How do you feel about that?”

 

“I think I was asking for help, but I wouldn’t have wanted it,” Josh said after a long while, “I imagined you confronting me and I planned out exactly what to say.  That I got them from lifting equipment, or from a cat or a sharp edge of a table.”

 

“That doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t say anything at all. Because I’m selfish.”

 

“I don’t think you’re selfish.  I think you just take on so many people’s pain, and you have all your own struggles that…I don’t know,” Josh mumbled.

 

“What are you thinking, Josh?” prompted Dr. George.

 

“I don’t want to—” Josh pulled on his sleeve and looked at the door.  Tyler rubbed Josh’s shoulder.

  
“It’s okay, man,” Tyler encouraged, “say what you feel like saying.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

 

“I’d rather hear it and deal with it than let it eat you up inside,” Tyler gripped his shoulder, “I love you, Josh. You’re my best friend and I’m here to help you. Because I can’t imagine life without—”

 

“It feels like there’s so much on your mind that it’s just easier for you to pretend I’m fine.  That I’m not as broken as anyone else that listens to your—I mean our—music.  All those kids that say ‘you saved my life,’ sometimes I need saving too. And that’s fucked up because I’m a grown adult and I shouldn’t need your approval and constant support, but I do because my head is screwed up,” Josh shaking voice was soft even though the words he said were harsh, and he rubbed away a tear that rolled down his cheek.

 

Tyler took a couple deep breaths.   His heart was hammering as if Josh had screamed at him. “You’re right.  I’ve always built you up to be happier than you look when you’re alone and not pretending.  I just need a rock when I’m feeling low, and I put that on you when you should be helped too.”

 

“How do we fix this?” Josh turned angry eyes on Dr. George, wiping at the tears that were still falling.

 

“I think…” she paused for a moment, “Communication is important.  I think you’re both doing a good job opening up to each other today, and the next steps are to keep talking, and sharing your issues.  Josh—we’ve discussed, you tend to stay in your head, and you should share what’s on your mind with Tyler and those around you.”

 

Josh’s mind immediately flicked to a specific song, and he pushed down the hysterical laugh in his throat.

 

“I’ll try,” he said.

 

“Me too,” Tyler added, “Can I hug you?” Josh nodded and they embraced again, and when they pulled away they pretended to not see each other wipe away tears.

 

“I really think this was a great start, and I hope you both continue this.  Is there anything else you’d want to share?” Dr. George glanced down at her watch to see the time allotted for this meet had nearly passed.

 

Josh shook his head still looking a bit teary as Tyler patted him on the knee, directly over the tattoo.

 

“Let’s go to the beach tomorrow,” Tyler said, and Josh hiccuped slightly. 

 

“Cool.”

…

It was just the three of them on a blanket the next day, Jenna and Josh and Tyler, watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean as Tyler hummed and plucked a few strings on his ukulele.

 

“You’re a cliché now,” Josh said, “Bringing the ukulele to the beach.”

 

“I’m just auditioning for my favorite band.”

 

“Josh, don’t let him back in the band.” Jenna was lying down, digging her toes into the sand.  They were going to meet up with Josh’s parents for dinner after sunset, but for now it was just the three of them.

 

“I changed my mind, _We Don’t Believe What’s On TV_ is actually about Josh; now and forever,” Tyler pouted and strummed the opening bars of the song.

 

“I guess you’re back in now,” Josh was smiling and Tyler wanted to keep this moment forever, where everything was quiet and calm.  Everyone was maybe a little cracked, but starting to heal.

 

“Hold still, bro. The light looks great on you right now,” Tyler fumbled for his phone and snapped a quick shot.

 

“What sick filter are you going to use?” Josh leaned over and looked at the screen. It was just his face and shoulders—no inclusion of the brace on his arm that they were going to explain away as just a strain…for now.  He’ll be ready one day to talk about it, but not today.

 

“Nah, this photo has enough _aesthetic_ already.”

 

“Please don’t make aesthetic a thing.”

 

“Jishwa, all I am is _aesthetic_ ,” Tyler proclaimed, opening up Instagram captioning the picture ‘::filteroff.oceanon::’.  For some reason it wasn’t posting…oh he just forgot to turn off airplane mode. Instantly his phone started beeping with texts and notifications from his voicemail, and he quickly switched it to silent.  _How long had he had it off?_   Tyler couldn’t really remember, but first things first.

 

As the photo posted, he refreshed to see hundreds of comments already on it, and they were all in the same vein, and he scrolled through in horror.  Could they know? Why else were they posting ‘praying for you, Josh’ and ‘stay alive’? Other people in the comments were asking questions and people were responding that _josh had been in the hospital, he tried to kill himself._ ‘there’s no fuckin way that happened, why didnt they tell us.’ ‘don’t they know we would understand?’

 

Tyler was glanced at the other two, his favorite people, and they were blissfully unaware—Josh didn’t even have his phone with him, saying he wanted to leave it at home for a ‘cleanse’.  Tyler counted a few breaths, not wanting to alarm them and then opened up Twitter, checking both his and Josh’s and the band’s replies to find thousands of messages of support, and speculation.  There were links to an article on AbsolutePunk.net, and a follow-up from AP magazine.  Not many details, but they had the rough timeline and what Josh had done—though they were wrong, he didn’t overdose, too.

 

 _Who told them? How had they found out?_ _What does he do now?_

 

His phone buzzed in his hand—Mark.  The closest thing to a PR rep they had.  Even though the label kept offering a ‘professional’ they insisted on sticking with Mark.  They trusted him.  But this disaster may be too big for him.

 

“’Scuse me a moment,” Tyler tried to keep his voice steady and he all but jogged away from the other two.  The call ended before Tyler could even pick up, but in seconds Mark was already calling him again.

 

“Mark—”

 

“Why has your phone been off? I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour! Tyler—”

 

“I know,” he cut in, “They found out.  How?!”

 

“I don’t know yet.  Maybe someone saw him at the hospital.  Maybe another patient recognized him? I am so mad right now,” a muffled thump made it sound like Mark kicked something, “Does Josh know? Where are you?”

 

“We’re at the beach.  He doesn’t know.  I was just posting a picture—”

 

“I know, I saw.”

 

“And I saw the comments and Mark, it’s on flipping AP!”

 

“Tyler.  It's better than that.  MTV has called asking for a statement.  TMZ had been calling _me_.  The label is freaking out.  Josh and your whole family has called me. Pete goddamn Wentz called half the crew since none of you picked up your phones.”

 

Tyler stopped his pacing and felt weak in the knees, “Mark, we’re not big enough for TMZ.”

 

“Then why is a picture of Josh on the front page?  I mean, it’s just a thumbnail, and the big story is something about the Kardashians, but he’s there.”

 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no,” Tyler was walking in circles, running a hand through his hair.  He glanced back to see that Jenna and Josh had packed up the blanket and ukulele, and were walking toward him.  The sun had set and the sky was a fading mess of pinks and blues.

 

“Gotta go—” he said quietly to Mark.

 

“No! Wait!” Mark was shouting, “What do I tell everyone?”

 

“Lemme tell Josh first and then we’ll call you back.  Give us an hour.”

 

“Tell me what?” Josh asked suspiciously as Tyler ended the call and tried to fake a grin. “Who was that?”

 

“It was just Mark.  Let’s stop at your apartment first. Before dinner.”

 

“Tyler?” Jenna asked, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

 

Tyler couldn’t speak or look at either of them.

 

“Tell me what. Tyler.” Josh’s voice sounded cloudy.  It had been a good day and now this was happening.  Why couldn’t anyone leave them alone?

 

“Josh…they know.”

 

“Who?” Josh’s face was inscrutable.

 

“Everyone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this part ended up being way to long, so good news there is still another chapter to come. Also, sorry for ending it on a cliffhanger...but not sorry.
> 
> (wdbwotv is about josh dun okay bye)


	5. Fused at the Wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would he say to everyone when he didn't even know his own mind?

_“Josh…they know.”_

_“Who?” Josh’s face was inscrutable._

_“Everyone.”_

* * *

Tyler knew he was being dramatic but he couldn’t stop himself right now, his mind in panic mode.  Jenna was squeezing his hand—he didn’t remember her taking it, and Josh was looking wide-eyed and lost.

 

“How?” Josh demanded.

 

“We don’t know. Apparently we’re getting lots of phone calls,” Tyler said as his phone started buzzing again.  It was someone from the label.  He hit ignore, seeing the other missed calls from various known and unknown numbers—family members, friends, fellow musicians, reporters, and about twenty from Mark alone.

 

“Call my parents.  Tell them to meet me at my place.”  Josh stalked up the beach, Tyler and Jenna running after him.  Tyler had driven them there in Josh’s car, but Josh had the keys and was starting to open the driver’s door.  Tyler called Josh’s mom first, while trying to block Josh from getting behind the wheel.

 

“Hi sorry, please meet us at Josh’s apartment, bye”

  
“Tyler. I’m fine, let me drive.” Josh’s hands were visibly shaking and Tyler hadn’t seen him this angry before.

 

“You can’t use your arm like that.  I’m driving.”  Josh glared and stomped over to the other side, slamming the door as best he could with his left arm.  Jenna slid silently into the backseat.

 

“Give me your phone,” Josh demanded as Tyler pulled out onto the street.

 

“Why?”

 

“I want to see what they’re writing.  Tyler, don’t make that face.  I’m going to find out anyway.”

 

Without looking, Tyler unlocked his phone and tossed it to Josh, who went silent.  Tyler could see Jenna through the rearview mirror on her own phone. 

 

“I’m on TMZ?”  Josh said as they pulled into a parking spot near his apartment and then he started laughing.  Jenna and Tyler made nervous eye contact through the mirror as Josh practically howled with laughter, clutching at his ribs.  “This is absurd.  I’m no one important.  Will the paparazzi start following me around? Oh God, here’s my parents.”  Josh slid down low in his seat, putting sunglasses back on despite the fact that it was nighttime now. 

 

They tapped on the window, and Tyler leapt out, deciding to distract them away from Josh who looked like he needed to hide for a bit. 

  
“Tyler, what is going on?” asked Josh’s father, “Everyone is calling us and asking questions.  We’ve been trying to reach you both.  It looks like—”

 

“Let’s go inside,” Tyler suggested, “Maybe we could order some food if you’re hungry?  Sorry, but we can’t go out.  Josh and I have to make some phone calls.”

* * *

"If I see another pun about how 'I must've been Stressed Out' I'm gonna...well… never mind."  Josh was now on his own phone, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, door shut, since he couldn’t bear to be in the living room with everyone else. The last thing he wanted was to be touched right now, and if he had to sit between his parents on the couch, Josh would probably start screaming. He felt sick and dirty; an object of public scrutiny and ridicule.  Tyler was lying on Josh's bed, talking to Mark and someone from the label on speaker phone, trying to figure out their next move. His arm was thrown over his eyes and the phone was held loosely in his other hand, dangling off the bed.

 

"MTV's offering to interview you tomorrow," Tyler announced and Josh rolled his eyes.

 

"Fine."

 

"Josh you don't have to if you don't want to," said the label rep, "it'd just be a good idea for you to get your side of the story out there. There's a lot of wrong information circulating right now. Get the media storm over with and then you can focus on your music and getting better."

 

"They're all vultures,” Josh said venomously, “They don't care about me, they just want the story. 'Emo drummer tries to kill himself—ugh just trying to get more famous or something.’ This sucks," Josh pulled the brace off his arm without thinking. It was too tight, and his stitches itched underneath it all.

 

"What about the fans?" Mark said.

 

"What about them?" Josh started his arm stretches.  His drums sat in the corner and he wanted nothing more to hit something hard and repeatedly.

 

"They're asking about you and I don’t mean the jerks that are making rude comments. The fans are showing a lot of support.  There's a petition or something going around Tumblr and Twitter pledging and telling people to stop harassing you.  To let you to take your time and that they're ready whenever you're ready to tell them.”

 

“That’s…that’s actually really nice,” said Josh.

 

“It's got thousands of signatures and stories from kids that did the same thing, saying you supported them so now they support you."

 

"If you're going to say something, say it to them.  Not to the trolls," Tyler lifted his head to look at Josh, who was biting his lip, obviously holding back tears.

 

"Okay. I'll talk to them. But not on MTV. We'll film it our own way, and then put it on our website. I don't want anyone to think I'm making money off of this. I just want to...I don't know," words failed him.  What would he say to everyone when he didn't even know his own mind?

 

“Sleep on it.  I’m flying out tomorrow anyway,” said Mark.

 

“We’re going to turn our phones off for the rest of the night, so we’ll talk then,” Tyler said, he had rolled over onto his side and was looking at Josh, who was sitting cross-legged now and looking lost.  Tyler ended the call with a half-hearted “goodbye” and went straight to shutting it down completely.  He lifted a hand to Josh who gave him his phone reluctantly. 

 

“It’s for the best,” Tyler said, reminded of all the times he looked at mean reviews and comments.  Once he started getting visibly upset, Josh would grab his phone away and hide it until Tyler genuinely smiled.

 

Josh looked down and caught a glimpse of the laceration on his arm, ruining everything.  Irreparable.  He couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a second before he felt like vomiting.  What a waste. Feeling cold, he hugged himself.

 

Tyler coughed lightly, and Josh met his eyes, not realizing Tyler had been studying him.  Tyler scooted over on the bed, and patted the space he had vacated.  “Come join me.”

 

The feeling of not wanting to be touched had passed, Josh needed a body, anybody to hold him and tell him that he wasn’t as terrible as his mind was shouting that he was.  The bed was warm where Tyler had been laying and Josh crossed his legs and arms, trying not to crowd Tyler, who took the stiff posture as a cue to slide his arm across Josh’s chest and rest his head on Josh’s shoulder.

 

“Is this okay?” Tyler said.

 

“Little late to ask.”  Tyler moved as if to withdraw, and Josh placed his hand upon Tyler’s wrist, saying, “no, it’s okay.”

 

They existed in silence, and Josh could feel Tyler’s soft breaths, while Tyler listened to the reverberating beats of Josh’s heart. 

 

“Is it possible to tattoo over a scar?”  Josh asked, the vibrations of his words through his chest jolted Tyler from his daze.

 

“Yeah,” Tyler had Googled that a few days before, knowing Josh would be wondering.  “Can I see it?”

 

Josh shrugged and unfolded his arms.  Tyler sat up and took the injured one into his hands.  Everything on that arm looked the same from the outside, but the soft, inner forearm was split and sewn back together.  The line of the cut was pinkish red where it wasn’t dyed with ink.  Black sutures marched evenly and neatly down the length, contrasting with the vibrant colors.  Tyler looked at Josh’s face—eyes were closed and head was turned away. 

  
“You should look,” Tyler said, “Come to terms with it, and accept it.”

 

“Why do people keep telling me to accept it?”  Josh said, “I should be ashamed of myself for being weak.”

 

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Tyler replied, pressing his lips briefly to the back of Josh’s hand, “People that have scars from cancer or—or heart surgery aren’t weak.  Soldiers get scars from war.  You have an illness, and you fight battles, but just because they are invisible doesn’t mean you should be ashamed.”

 

“What am I going to say to the rest of my family? Our friends? Our fans?”  Josh pleaded, “How do you say all those…” he floundered for a moment, “deep things?”

 

“It sounds clichéd, but you just have to say what your heart is feeling.  I think I was just so tired of bottling everything up, that I decided to just put it all out there, you know? And if I wasn’t afraid to stop hiding it, I would be able to confront it.”

 

A single sob escaped from Josh’s pursed lips, and Tyler patted Josh’s face, and then embraced him in an awkward half-lying position.  “It’ll be fine, Josh, we’ll be fine,” he said soothingly, not too sure he could keep this promise, but vowing to try his best.

* * *

The video wasn’t long.  No special effects, music, or gags, just Josh, with Tyler sitting on his left, telling the camera what had happened to him.  Just the truth and no hiding.  Tyler was proud of how steady Josh’s voice was—he didn’t look away or bite his lips.  Tyler knew there would be people who analyzed every second, every syllable, every word, but this was just Josh saying what he wanted to say.  He wasn’t trying to be a hero, and he even said that at one point.

 

“I just don’t want people to feel in the dark, because that’s what I’ve felt for a long time.  It shouldn’t be a hidden struggle, and I just want everyone to know I’m getting help.  And if you’re going through something too, I ask you to reach out—if it’s a friend, or neighbor, or teacher, or even a hotline—which we’ll put a link in at the bottom of the video, because no one should suffer alone.  It’s a long journey to getting better and it won’t be easy, but I hope to be there for it.  And I’m excited to make more music for you all,” Josh said, and looked over at Tyler who’d been staring at him as if a blink would make him disappear, “Tyler, my friend, do you have anything to add?”

 

Tyler took some time clearing his throat, “I guess I’m glad I let you talk for once because that was beautiful, bro,” he turned to the camera, “I agree with Josh—please don’t fight this fight alone, seek help and stay alive, my friends.  We’ll see you soon.”

 

Neither could be surprised by the internet anymore be shocked that the the video spread like wildfire.  But they didn’t spend the day watching the news sites repost it, or see other musicians respond (though Pete Wentz wrote a beautiful message about his own attempt, and other people started opening up too, and Josh felt like he started _something_ good for once), or read the thousands of messages they were getting.  They were in the studio, and Tyler was playing the new songs for Josh.  He’d decided to stay in LA since he was in such a creative mood, and things were starting to fall into place.  There was just once thing holding them back from recording a whole album right then and there.

 

Josh picked up his drumsticks for the first time that day they posted the video.  It really hurt no matter how much Motrin he took before, or the stretching, not to mention the drumstick kept flying out of his hand.  He only tried for a grand total of three minutes, before giving up, complaining his stitches stretched uncomfortably.  Tyler was already calling the hand therapist (he promised it wasn’t him that hired her in the first place) and Josh started seeing her three times a week.

 

Josh also started speaking to a therapist on a regular basis, one who would even accept calls from Skype if Josh was on tour and needed to talk.  Sometimes he felt the wrung-out-sponge feeling afterward, but other times he felt light as air.  Either way, the frequency of Josh’s panic attacks slowed, his moods evened out, and it could be the medicine, but it was probably some combination of unbottling the darkness inside and fixing the chemicals in his brain. 

 

He did end up doing an interview with MTV, framed under a campaign to promote mental health.  They did the occasional acoustic set in random places, looking to surprise fans while Josh worked on building his strength up.  The pain went away as the stitches dissolved and the wound healed to a scar, but he found he wasn’t able to move his wrist as well   It took some months before they could even record him drumming—initially they used a friend to do basic beats so they could at least build some tracks around that and later fill in with Josh.  He felt like an athlete out of the winning season, sitting on the bench in a track suit, but his doctors were impressed with how much he was able to do.

 

“The amount of damage you inflicted should have caused moderate paralysis in your grip and flexion, but I’d say it is 65 to 70 percent returned,” the specialist doctor said at one of his follow up appointments.  Josh’s delivery of custom gripped sticks arrived that day, and it helped significantly.  Tyler teased that Josh always had a problem holding onto sticks anyway.

 

They finished the album and they were ready to tour with it.  This all felt like part of the healing process for both of them.  Each word and note felt more significant—they came so close to losing everything, but here they are, stronger than ever.  Josh saw a series of posts on Tumblr wondering if he’d wear long-sleeved shirts on stage now, and decided wholeheartedly to not hide away the scar.  When it was fully healed, he was going to touch up the tattoo around it, but leave it how it was.  It was a reminder, and he was going to live with it.

 

So that first show, after playing a few songs, Tyler pointed to him and shouted his name.  As he lifted his arms to hit the cymbals as hard as he could—the roar of the crowd thundering in his ears and the breeze across his bare arms—Josh felt so alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks again to Josh (minecraftwarcat) for being my inspiration and muse. I urge anyone to get help if you're feeling depressed, suicidal, or if your brain is not on straight. Keep working to create. Every person is beautiful and I love talking to people. Thank you all for your warm reception-- you've really helped me to get back into writing again.
> 
> |-/

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to Josh (Minecraftwarcat) who wrote a beautiful and heartbreaking story that inspired me to write this. I'm a huge fan of his work so check him out! 
> 
> More to come of this work!
> 
> I'm shivermepickles or teeentyonepilots on tumblr. Come say hey!


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